


My Own, and Mine Alone

by keyboardclicks



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Established Relationship, Ham Commons Era, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:31:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7165667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyboardclicks/pseuds/keyboardclicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't easy to be in hiding, especially not when you once held all the world in your grasp.  Nobody knows this better, perhaps, than AJ Raffles himself; once both the cricket hero of England and scoundrel thief of London, he finds himself feeling the loss of that admiration he once held.  But Bunny, for his part, still sees AJ as nothing less than his entire world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Own, and Mine Alone

Raffles and I shared a fair number of quiet days together in our humble abode at Ham Commons.  Some were pleasant and peaceful, whilst others were filled with an unspeakable tension that I was never able to pinpoint.  It seemed as if, being human as he was, my dearest companion was prone to fits of melancholy from which I was unable to lift him.  They were infrequent, but a state unlike the kinds of which I had ever known him to suffer previously.  On the worst days he completely refused to talk to me, only barely seeming to tolerate my company.  And he would stare out the window or gaze so intensely at a book that I swore it would catch fire, or else turn straight to dust.

This was, unfortunately, one of those days which I so detested.  Raffles sat, as he had since we’d finished breakfast, staring out of the west window with his chin in his palm and a sour expression.  I for my part was occupying myself with poetry near the fire, having learned that attempting interaction when he found himself in this state would either be futile, or enraging.  The pitter-patter of a typical English rain on the rooftop and the glass of the windows may have been calming, had it not been for the terrible energy the foul mood of Raffles’ seemed to leak into every corner.

It was some time in early evening when he broke the day-long silence.  “Bunny,” he said, “do you want to know what I’ve realized?”

I set down my book, turning to face him in the dull light of the fire’s dying embers.  “What’s that, AJ?”

“I have realized,” he spat, “that I have become an honest to God  _ Sybil Vain! _ ”

He said this as if it was the most logical thing in the world, but it was all I could do to look at him in confusion.  “Sybil Vain?” I asked, and it was then that I recognized the name.  “From that  _ Dorian Gray  _ novel?  What on Earth do you mean?”

He did not answer me at first, and only hardened his stare towards the water running down the windowpane.  For a moment I thought he had decided he was already tired of conversation, and would leave me in the dark until he felt fit once again.  Then, quite suddenly, his gaze turned towards me and I was nearly startled into jumping.  His eyes were a dark and fearsome grey, and I felt the urge to shrink from him like a schoolboy from an enraged teacher.

“What I  _ mean _ ,” he articulated, “is that it would be entirely possible for me to walk out into this storm, at this very moment, never return, and for the world to remain unaltered because of it.”

“Come now, dear fellow,” I began, though I still could not make heads or tails the meaning of his words, “you cannot honestly believe that.”

“But isn’t it true?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then tell me: who would mourn my death?”

“I would,” I returned, trying not to sound indignant.  “As I have done twice before, you’ll recall.”

“Yes, yes.”  He rolled his eyes and batted away my words with a careless motion of his hand.  The effortless impatience of it nearly brought my temper to a boil.  “I meant  _ besides  _ you, Bunny.  I challenge you to name one person, besides yourself, who would mourn for me.”

I then attempted to name our landlady, but Raffles swiftly dashed that idea, saying that, “She would mourn, yes, but for “dear old Ralph from the colonies”, not for me.”

After that I said nothing, for I had nothing to say.  So few people knew of the character Raffles had chosen to play, purely for the safety that his scarcity provided, that the landlady herself was the only other I could even think to name.  Raffles saw my hesitation with the issue and, clearly taking it as some sort of personal victory, continued.

“Some people would cry for Mr. Maturin, if the old devil were still around, and some would cry for your kindhearted brother.  On that point, Bunny, I’m sure there were those who cried when they heard of that great cricketer AJ Raffles who drowned at sea, but even those who  _ did _ would have dried their eyes when learning of my thievery.  Now they’ve probably cast me from their minds altogether.”  He sighed, and never before had his face seemed so heavy as it did in that moment when he turned his head to gaze again at the afternoon’s downpour.

I was silent, for I knew that he was right.  The only thing that wascertain is that  _ I _ would mourn for him, regardless of the name he wore or the blackness of his heart.  He, in all his many forms, was the person I cared for most in this world.  For the sake of being by his side I had risked life and limb and reputation, and would not hesitate to again and anon for the rest of my days.  I had mourned him twice, and would twice more if the world was so cruel.

“Yes, I’ve become a true Sybil Vain…” he muttered, stormy eyes still absently fixed on nothing.  “So eternally loved for the roles I play, but not for my true self.  Never admired, never remembered, never missed.”

How my heart ached for him!  To hear such depressing sentiments from the mouth of my dearest friend, a man whose eyes alone could convey more happy mischief than I thought the world possessed, chilled my very soul.  Of course he was upset!  How could I not have seen it earlier?  Raffles was made to be many things: a hated scoundrel, an admired cricketer, a feared villain!  But now, through so many tribulations, he had become scarcely more than a ghost.  I was the only one who knew him, the truth of him.  I was the only one who knew of his illicit past, of his smile on moonless nights with jewels clinking in his pockets, of his greatness and his adventures and his true name.  Only I admired him, revered him, loved him!  How could that ever be enough for a man who had commanded the respect and admiration of every cricket fan in England?  Who had aroused the ire of every officer in Scotland Yard and still smiled and wish them a good day as he passed?  I knew I could not be everything Raffles needed in the world-nobody could!  But I dare say that I was, after all was said and done, everything he had left.

I stood from my chair, and then before him with as stern a face as I could muster.  “No, AJ,” I said, “that isn’t true; none of it is.  There were those who admired you, and who I’m sure admire you still!  Those who would give anything just to shake your hand- don’t shake your head at me!  You know the world is full of all sorts of people, and those who would dare to admire villains would not be the most out of place, and if there was ever a villain to admire, my friend, it would be you!  And even if you are not admired, our crimes were the bane of so many that the healthy hatred you acquired must be just as good?”

Raffles gazed at me, curious but still unbelieving in my words.  I grasped him by the shoulders, having to resist the urge to shake him to his sense.  Instead I let my words carry on, spilling out my every thought without so much as a bit of censorship.  “You are not a Sybil Vain, AJ; you are Dorian Gray himself- No!  Better!  A hundred times better than Dorian Gray!  For age as have, you’ve done it so marvelously that you remain a work of art, living and breathing.”  Moving one hand I brushed back some of the white curls laying before his ear.  “Every line on your face, every lock of white hair only adds to your character, to your beauty.”  And I looked into his eyes so boldly that I shocked myself.  “And you  _ are _ beautiful, AJ.  As I have told you hundreds of times, you are truly the most handsome, beautiful man I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

But Raffles still did not look at me, turning his gaze to the side and brushing my hand from his cheek.  He muttered something, the specifics of which I do not remember, but which sparked a fierce, protective anger inside of me.  I took his face into my hands and forced him to look at me.

“And, when all is said and done, you are still Arthur J. Raffles.  You are still a gentleman of England, loyal to Her Majesty the Queen, and the most clever man that anyone should have the pleasure of meeting.  You are a cracksman, and an artist, and an actor, and a sportsman, and a dozen other things that no other person would ever dare to be in tandem.”  

Fearing my own courage would leave me, I kissed firmly the crease of his brow, pulling back to run my thumbs over his cheeks.

“AJ Raffles,” I said.  “That’s who you are, understand?  To me, you could never be anyone  _ but  _ AJ Raffles; I don’t care how you look or the false name you assume.  You will always be my Raffles.”

I cannot accurately describe the expression which befell my friend’s face, for I do not know if any words in the English language which could communicate the cornucopia of emotions which played out, all at once, across it.  It seemed, for once, that I had completely stunned him.

“And if you do not believe me,” I so continued to be bold and sat myself upon his lap, “then I shall simply have to say it again and again until you do.”

This made him laugh, and I felt a deep sense of pride swell up within me as Raffles lay his hands upon my lower back.  The lines on his face softened as his smile grew, the twinkling light returning to his eyes as the storm within them rolled over and left them shining once again.

“But you do know how to brighten my mood, don’t you, Bunny?  I suppose a literary fellow like yourself should know all the best ways to flatter someone.”

“Not a word of it was baseless,” I countered.  “Every syllable was absolute truth.”

“Was it, now?”

“As I live and breath.”

He chuckled, and I felt his fingers absently curling in the back of my shirt.  “And would you really sit here with me until I believed you, repeating yourself over and over again?  My dear rabbit you must know that I’m a stubborn man; I could keep us here until you were as ghastly looking as me if I liked.”

“You’re the handsomest man I know,” I repeated.  “And I’ll say it again, if you like.”  The face he made indicated his answer; I leaned comfortably against his shoulder.  “You’re the handsomest man I know, AJ  The handsomest man I have _ ever _ known.”

“Even though I look rather like a ghost?”

“A man twice dead has never looked so appealing.”

Raffles laughed again, a warm and welcoming sound.  “What a bold little rodent you are today!  I daresay it’s just what I needed- look, you’ve brightened me right up.  I almost feel like myself again.”

He nearly looked it, too; the lines around his mouth and eyes faded with his soft expression, the laughter bringing color to his pale cheeks.  I could so plainly see the dark-haired devil who had dragged me into my life of crime, laughing merrily as he emptied his pockets of necklaces and bracelets and rings.  That merry gleam in his eyes was ever the same, the corners of his mouth curled upwards in a smile which promised happy mischief.  That was the man who sat before me, even if his hair was white and his face aged beyond his years.  He was the devil to whom I had sworn my heart and soul.

“I’m glad to hear it, AJ  You’re no company at all when your mood is foul.”

I attempted then to stand, but the hand still curled in the back of my shirt kept me firmly still while its opposite lay against my face.  From my position on his lap I was half a head taller than Raffles, just enough so that I had to be pulled down slightly to be kissed.  My own hands were buried into his curls, my elbows against his strong shoulders as he shifted me to straddle him, and my knees pressed against the back of the comfortable chair.

“My own rabbit,” murmured he against my lips.

“My own AJ,” I replied.

Words again fail me at replicating the expression on my companion’s face, for I know none in any language which could describe it.  He kissed me again, hands wandering along my back and chest so that I wished that my shirt was not between us.  Moments later that problem was no more, and AJ lay on his back with a smile I knew too well as his affectionate gaze followed my every move, a hand running through my hair and pulling me in for a kiss, his lips chasing mine when I pulled away.

“My own AJ,” I repeated the earlier praise.  My voice was low and rough, and I took my breath in hard as my head spun from a kiss too-long enjoyed.

“My own rabbit,” he replied, fingers twitching, broad chest rising and falling as he lay below me on the couch, his smile so wide that it creased the corners of his twinkling eyes, once again their piercing blue.  “Whatever would I do without you?”

I didn’t know.  I kissed him, whispered praises against his skin and sealed them messily against his lips.  I didn’t know the answer to his question but I knew that he was beautiful, that he was so clever, and that he was nobody but my very own AJ Raffles in the flesh.  That I told him, his name becoming like prayer on my lips as I said it with endless devotion as I promised him everything I had, heart and soul and beyond.  And AJ clung to me, as if I were his salvation, and called me such lovely things which I will selfishly refuse to write here as they were meant only for me to know.  I held him and revered him with every part of my body and every ounce of my strength.  I gave him every bit of my love and devotion, for he had owned my heart for so long that I knew nothing else.  He was my entire world by my own choice, and though I was his by less free will never would I fail in giving him everything I could, for such a man as he deserved nothing less.

  



End file.
